


The Origin of Albert:  The Plushie From the Land Beyond

by ArgentNoelle, Sonia34



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Circus Arc (Kuroshitsuji), Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen, Grim Reapers, Holidays, Kuroshitsuji: Book of Circus - Freeform, M/M, Memories, Origin Story, Other, Parody, Plushies, Reaper Academy, Reaper!AU, Roommates, Young Grell Sutcliff, remember that time Victoria said she made Christmas pudding, this should be a parody but they all act like this anyway, with Phipps and grey and Brown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonia34/pseuds/Sonia34
Summary: This is the TRUE STORY about the origins of Albert the hand-puppet!





	The Origin of Albert:  The Plushie From the Land Beyond

“Albert!” called the Queen. John Brown rushed forward, holding up a hand where Albert was balanced, his stature as impeccable as the day he died. His felt hair was perfectly kept. His button eyes were smiling, fixed in place as they had been for years.

“Albert, you are here, aren’t you?” bellowed the Queen, kissing the doll’s head. John Brown did not move. As always, Brown was wearing his silver-tinted riding goggles. Today, like most others, Charles Grey was eyeing them suspiciously. He sat at the kitchen counter, stealing bits of batter from a bowl where Phipps was stirring vanilla into a Christmas pudding. Phipps waved his hand away, then turned around to find the salt. Charles rolled his eyes at the other butler, before dipping his finger in again.

The Queen, crying loudly at the continuing virility of her beloved deceased, did not notice.

“Why do you always keep those on?” asked Grey, pointing to Brown’s goggles with a pudding-coated finger.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” said Brown.

“Don’t threaten people on Christmas Eve,” said the Queen, patting Albert’s cheek.

“Still,” drawled Grey. “Kinda weird you keep those on all the time.” Grey knew this as a solid fact. He had spent numerous hours trying to catch the Master of Horses without his goggles. But the man never seemed to remove them. Not to sleep, not even to shower. The showering incident had made a bit of a fuss. Grey didn’t care for the soap bar thrown at his face. Brown was a good shot, and could hit someone’s eye without blinking. At least, Grey presumed he didn’t blink.

“Needs more milk,” muttered Phipps, stirring the pudding.

“It’s no weirder than your friend keeping a needle and thread on him at all times,” Brown said. Charles looked at Charles and shrugged.

“Still,” said Grey.

“It’s no stranger than…” Brown stopped himself, then nodded at the Queen, who was still blubbering.

“...I guess.”

“It’s no stranger,” said Phipps, speaking up again, “than Charles’ obsession with double dipping.” He grabbed the bowl back from Grey’s sneaking fingers.

“This has nothing to do with me,” Grey said, picking up a long wooden spoon and reaching it around Phipps’ head to steal some pudding from the other side. Longer arms make stealing easy 

“Have some bread,” said Phipps, pointing at a tray of steaming rolls. Grey sighed and picked three up, dipping them in the pudding.

John Brown stared into the distance. Not that anyone could tell. As far as they were concerned, he never made eye contact with anyone to begin with. He had to admit, that came in useful at times. He could glare daggers at anyone, and couldn’t get in trouble, not even from the Queen herself. It was good at hiding eye-rolls too. He used those a lot. He was more expressive than other people thought.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. So if you want to keep a secret, covering them is the smartest thing to do.

And besides, they were prescription.

  


John Brown’s story started a long time ago. A lot longer ago than he felt like thinking back to at the moment. Childhood was tiresome. Adulthood was downright depressing. But death? That’s when things got interesting. He remembered opening his eyes to see that red-haired maniac staring him down, waving a hand into his face. Of course, at that point, all he saw was a reddish-shaped blur.

“So you’re up,” he’d said, kicking him. “Get on your feet, we need to check you in."

“In where?” Brown had asked, thoroughly confused. He’d thought he was dead.

“You probably think you’re dead right now,” the red-head had said. “Sorry to say it, but you’re right. Good news is, you still have job options.”

Brown had found himself two very lucrative jobs. Firstly the job of a grim reaper. His brown eyes, turned green, were as sharp as they could get (when aided by his goggles) and he hardly ever worked overtime. His second job was a bit more taxing, and time consuming as well. That was because he worked for the Queen of England. There was no one more high maintenance than the Queen of England. And that was coming from someone who had roomed with Grell, back in school. Of course, the connexion with Grell, had, oddly enough, come in handy, when the Queen had demanded… ALBERT. 

“He’s dead,” Brown had, unintelligently, informed her. Being a reaper, Brown was used to death being an easy subject. Someone was either dead, alive, supernatural beings, or possessed. It was as simple as that. (All that stuff with Bizarre Dolls gave him a headache.)

The Queen had had an outrage when Brown said Albert was dead. She’d thrown a teapot at his head, then proceeded to envelop him in a hug and cry. For two hours.

The next day, when the Queen had again requested to see Albert, Brown had settled on replying “He’s out at the moment,” not wishing to add another bandage to accompany the one encircling his head. “Well you’d better get him back here by tomorrow,” said the Queen, “or else!" 

When they were studying to be full reapers, Brown had learned a few interesting things about his roommate, Grell Sutcliff.

 

  1. Grell liked to take notes—in blood.
  2. Grell had a crush on everyone—except Brown, thank goodness.
  3. Grell had no qualms about filing his teeth into sharp points. This he spent a full twenty-four hours doing. This kept Brown awake all night. Supposedly, the comparisons of his smile to a shark’s flattered Grell so much that he wished to embrace it as a fashion statement.
  4. Grell did not see anything wrong with trying to cheat off Brown for their Ethics homework.
  5. Grell did not know how to cook without starting a fire. He _claimed_ it was on purpose and he just wanted to see the red firetrucks, but Brown knew for a fact this was baloney. He had been trying to impress an attractive teacher, he just didn’t want to tell this to Security.
  6. Grell’s dream was to be an actress, but no one else wanted to put on a play.
  7. Four of Grell’s enemies mysteriously disappeared. The fifth was kicked out for breach of conduct, but insisted he’d been framed.
  8. Grell liked to doodle on the wall by his bunk with his Death Scythe.
  9. If he forgot a fork, Grell did not mind eating his food with his Death Scythe. Lunchmates found this rather disturbing.
  10. Grell had no hesitation about blackmailing his roommate into carrying out his dirty work. For reasons of liability, Brown would not recount these tales, even in his own head.



 

In addition, Grell made dolls. They were plushies. Some were of people he thought were cute. Some of them were of people he disliked. They were all so ugly Brown found it hard to tell which was which. The only way to tell was looking to see which had stab-marks, and which had lipstick stains. He pitied the men whose dolls had both. Still. Living with Sutcliff hadn’t been all bad.

The point of this was, thought Brown, that the dolls were useful. Because when the Queen demanded ALBERT! Brown knew exactly what to do. He’d called up Grell, and cashed in a favour.

“I need a doll,” he’d said, flatly. 

“I’m flattered, honey,” Grell had replied, “but you’re really not my type.”

“I mean a plushie,” Brown elaborated.

“OOH! Do you fancy someone then? Tell me all about it.”

“It’s for the Queen of England.”

“My my, you two must be close!”

“I need a doll of her deceased Albert. Make it a puppet, if you can. Easier to carry.”

“Why should I do that for her?”

“Consider it for _me_. A little exchange for June Seventeenth.”

After a long pause on the other side of the line, Grell suddenly became very compliant. “Anything for my ex-roomie! I’ll get it to you by next week, ‘kay? Anyway, I have to go now. Have a date with William."

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true! He called me into his office just now, and we _both_ know that only means one thing.”

“It probably means he’s going to yell at you for using the office phone for a personal call.”

“Oh, shut it!” The line went dead.

 

That’s how Albert was reborn. Delivered next week, right on time, the doll looked just about as expected. It was a semi-accurate, horrifying depiction of the Queen’s dearest departed. She loved it.

“It’s so wonderful,” said Victoria, turning away from Albert to face her servants, “to celebrate the Holidays with family.”

“Especially when there’s food,” commented Grey. “Is the pudding done yet?”

“I have to bake it first. If you want to keep an eye on it, I can stick you in the oven too,” Phipps replied, with his usual calm tone.

Grey laughed nervously, unsure if this was a serious remark.

“We ought to get out five plates,” said Victoria.

“Five?” said Grey. “There’s only f—” Phipps’ hand flew over Grey’s mouth.

“Of course,” said Phipps, walking towards the cabinet.

“Don’t forget, Albert likes the blue plate,” the Queen called after him.

_Family,_ mused Brown. Is that what they were? He sighed, exchanging a glance with Albert. Well… to be honest, it wasn’t so bad.


End file.
